


If You Want to Leave

by trash4ficsaboutlurv



Category: Captain America (Movies)
Genre: Fluff, M/M, Resolved Sexual Tension
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-03
Updated: 2015-12-08
Packaged: 2018-05-04 16:35:21
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,692
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5341001
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/trash4ficsaboutlurv/pseuds/trash4ficsaboutlurv
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Steve can't rein in his imagination. (Or the one where Steve pines away like a lovesick teenager)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Steve can’t stop staring at Sam’s mouth and it’s becoming a bit of problem. Friends don’t stare at their friends’ lips, think about making out with their friends on the couch, imagine…well, the things Steve’s been imagining. 

And the nighttime fantasies Steve's been having about Sam? Well, those certainly aren’t helping. In fact, since Steve’s met Sam, he’s woken up in the middle of the night, rutting against the mattress an embarrassing number of times. Sometimes the dreams aren’t even sexual. Sam is telling him a story from his childhood or they’re buying groceries together. Dream!Sam smiles at him and Steve’s chest is tight and his dick is hard.

Steve’s got it bad. Maybe worse than he’s ever had it.

And all the feelings keep bubbling to the surface at the most inopportune moments. When the whole gang is over talking about Hydra, when Sam asks him what he wants for dinner, when he adjusts his wing pack before a mission. The other day, Sam tripped over an uneven piece of sidewalk—no big deal; just a small stumble—and Steve reached out to balance him, put his hands on either side of Sam’s waist. Sam had looked sheepish and said, “So there’s no way you didn’t notice that?” and Steve had thought he was going to fall apart from the overwhelming affection he felt.

“I knew you were bad at running,” he’d joked. “But you might be bad at just staying on your feet.”

Sam had rolled his eyes, mumbled about super-serum assholes.

And now they’re alone at Sam’s. Sam is washing the dishes from dinner; Marvin Gaye is playing; the TV is on, volume low, showing a Thursday night football game; Steve is supposed to be reading through some old S.H.I.E.L.D. files. Everything feels so domestic and lovely and Steve’s shivery with want, with love for the oblivious guy in the kitchen humming along to “Sexual Healing.”

God, what he wouldn’t give for Nat’s seduction skills right now. Even Tony’s roguish charm would be better than this awkward helplessness. His track record hasn’t been all that great. He’d crashed a plane into the Atlantic, the neighbor turned out to be S.H.I.E.L.D., Nat had derided his kissing skills.

And okay, he had managed to speak to Sam that day on the Mall and if you wanted to count crashing hellicarriers into the Potomac and confronting long lost friends on a kill mission as a first date, it had been one hell of a start. A start that hasn’t gone anywhere. There’s flirting, but Sam flirts with everyone. There are nights alone, but they mostly consist of Hydra research or Steve catching up on the modern era. What Sam calls Education Time with Steve Rogers.

Sam isn’t seeing anyone. Had mentioned the girl at the V.A. front desk that one time, but nothing since. Sam and Riley had been a thing; Steve had made sure to ask. So he knows Sam isn’t against being in a relationship with a man.

And yet, Steve has held back, has told himself that he made the first move (“On your left”) and now it’s Sam’s turn. Only Sam doesn’t want to play. Nat insists that Marvin Gaye had been Sam’s move, but Steve isn’t so sure. Sam is so ridiculously flirty, that could very well have been a joke to him.

Steve glares at the television screen, annoyed with himself and then half-heartedly annoyed with Sam for making him feel this way. He pushes off the couch just as Marvin Gaye abruptly turns off in the kitchen.

“Headed out?” Sam asks, coming into the living room. He’s wiping his wet hands on a dish towel. Water has splashed over his shirt and the damp fabric sticks to his stomach. “I was gonna put on another movie.” He notices where Steve’s eyes have gone. “Change my shirt first. I dropped the casserole dish in the water. Bet that never happens to you.”

Steve’s mouth has gone dry. He shakes his head.

“Don’t let me keep you, though,” Sam says. “If you’re leaving. If you want to leave.”

Steve smiles, completely gone for this idiot with his wet T-shirt and dish towel and the little crinkles at the corners of his eyes. Everything about him makes Steve stupid-happy. “I don’t want to leave,” he says and he tries to say it all with those five words. And maybe he does, because Sam’s eyebrows jump up in surprise.

“I thought we could do a modern classic,” Sam says, voice going up a little at the end. He’s confused by Steve’s tone, but not going to push it. “It’s probably not your type of movie, but it’s a cultural touchstone. You’ve definitely heard it referenced.”

Sam goes to his shelf of DVDs and selects a pink case.

“Mean Girls?” Steve reads, laughing.

“Have I steered you wrong yet?” Sam asks.

It’s a loaded question and Sam has no idea. Steve laughs. “This is going to be Trouble Man all over again, isn’t it?”

“You bet your ass,” Sam says, grinning. “Although Mean Girls is so great, maybe I won’t tease you.”

Steve smiles. After Sam’s recommendation, Steve had listened to Marvin Gaye’s album for weeks without tiring of it, had been almost obsessed with it. Sam has teased that Steve never does anything by halves, can’t just like a song—has to play it until the words and melodies are irrevocably imprinted on his brain. Which is true. Steve never does anything by halves.

He pats the sofa cushion beside him and after Sam puts the DVD into the player, he joins Steve.

“I should change my shirt,” he says, but makes no move to get up.

Steve glances down at the wet fabric, imagines unbuttoning Sam’s shirt, unzipping his pants. Giving Sam a blowjob that wipes that flirty smirk right off his face, leaves him gasping and begging to be taken, to be fucked. And Steve does. Slowly, gently, teasingly. Until Sam feels as wound up as Steve’s been feeling, as desperate, as out-of-his-mind needy. And Steve gets to watch Sam fall apart, groaning, whimpering, sighing, before Steve gives in to his own pleasure. Finally, finally.

“Yoo-hoo,” Sam says, snapping his fingers in front of Steve’s face.

Steve shakes his head and the fantasy falls away. He grabs a pillow and sets it on his lap. “Sorry,” he says gruffly. “Spaced out for a second there.”

He can feel Sam’s gaze on him, but he resolutely stares at the start screen for the movie. After a few seconds, Sam presses play.

And Steve tries to get lost in the political dramas of some truly terrifying high school girls. And he only thinks about fucking Sam a little bit.

 


	2. Okay, Hit Me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Steve takes matters into his own hands (Or, the one where Sam is still a flirty, little shit)

They’re standing in Sam’s foyer, removing their sodden jackets. Steve’s hair is dripping down the back of his neck and the water soaks the top of his t-shirt. Sam steps out of his shoes, uses Steve’s shoulder for balance. He takes Steve’s jacket and shakes it out, splashing them both.

“Sorry,” he says. He hangs their coats on the coat stand, rummages in the hall closet for a towel to lay their shoes on. Steve watches Sam, feels the familiar tightness in his chest—that ache-y we-could-have-it-all kind of feeling and he feels like he’s lost Sam. Even though he’s never had him. Even though he’s standing right here.

Sam closes the closet door, grins at Steve. “I thought you’d take advantage,” he says.

Steve lifts his eyebrows, confused.

“Shower,” Sam explains. “I’d thought you’d go first.”

Steve shakes his head, immediately assaulted by shower scenarios with Sam. “Nah, you can go,” he says. “It’s my fault we were out in the rain anyway.”

Steve had insisted they could walk home from Nat’s place instead of taking a cab, and a summer storm had rolled in before they’d walked three blocks. Sam had looked over at Steve, his cheeks dimpling. “Your punishment is walking at _my_ pace,” he'd said. Steve had thought about offering to run them home, Sam on his back, but he knew he couldn’t make his tone jocular enough. Sam was the one with all the jokes. Besides thinking about Sam _on_ him in any capacity short-circuited a few things in Steve’s head.

“I won’t be in the shower long,” Sam promises. He has to step around Steve to get to the staircase, but Steve doesn’t move. Nat’s last words before she said good-night are rattling around in his head. “Don’t be an idiot.” She’d been responding to some teasing thing Sam had said, but Steve felt like it was meant for him. _Don’t be an idiot._

“Sam,” he says, widening his stance and straightening his shoulders like he’s preparing for a hard hit.

Sam’s grin wavers. “You alright?” he asks.

Steve bites his lip and he swears Sam’s gaze drops to his mouth. “Everything’s fine,” he says but his voice sounds weird.

Sam frowns. “Is this an ‘I’m Captain America and everything’s fine’? Or ‘I’m Steve Rogers and everything’s not fine but let’s all pretend?’” His tone is light, just this side of teasing, but his concern is genuine and it touches Steve down to his bones. It would be one thing if Sam was just gorgeous and an excellent fighting partner. But he’s also insightful and kind and funny and has this way of making Steve feel like the center of the universe when he smiles. Trouble is Sam has that effect on everyone. Which leaves Steve off-balance and unsure.

_Don’t be an idiot._

He lets out a shaky breath. “The Steve Rogers one,” he admits.

Sam nods, sets his feet and says, “Okay, hit me.”

Steve tries not to overthink it, tries to pretend this is the same as throwing himself off buildings and knowing Sam will catch him. He leans forward, pauses a bare inch away from Sam’s lips.

“Is this okay?”

It happens in slow motion: Sam’s confusion, questioning, realization, deciding, excitement. He closes the distance between them and his lips are electric. No, narcotic. No, somehow a bit of both.

*******

Steve doesn’t know what to do with his hands. He wants to do too much, do it all in these few exquisite seconds. He strokes the silky skin of Sam’s forearms, rubs his thumb along the pulse point of Sam’s wrists, glides back up to cup his elbows. Sam doesn’t seem to mind, is having trouble deciding what to do, too. His hands are on Steve’s waist, then his hips, his back. But their lips—God, Steve could kiss this man forever.

Sam pulls away.

He presses his forehead to Steve’s shoulder and lets out a “pah” of breath somewhere between a laugh and a groan. Steve feels the warm exhalation through the damp cotton of his shirt.

“We are so dumb,” Sam says. His nose brushes Steve’s collarbone and his hands run restlessly up and down Steve’s sides.

 _Dumb?_ Steve wonders. _Dumb for kissing and putting their partnership in danger? Or dumb for not doing it before?_ He stands still, his fingertips still cupping Sam’s elbows. He’s nervous anything he says or does will ruin it, will bring Sam to his senses, will pull them into a joking mood or worse, a let’s-forget-this-ever-happened mood. _Don’t be an idiot._

Sam kisses Steve's jaw. And then a string of kisses up to his ear and Steve’s hips cant forward. Sam smiles against his flushed skin and kisses the spot again. Steve whines.

“Sensitive?” Sam asks and Steve’s eyes are closed, but he can hear the smug flirtation in Sam’s voice.

He doesn’t even care. He nods.

“I can work with that,” Sam whispers.

Steve shivers, exhales shakily. He ducks his head to kiss Sam again. Kisses him until they’re both breathless. Steve has figured out what to do with his hands. Grab Sam’s ass. He walks them up against the wall and he’d like to have Sam naked right here in the foyer, but Sam is pulling away. Steve pauses and watches as Sam tries to catch his breath. “One question,” Sam says, “how long?”

“What?” Steve asks, baffled and eager to continue what they’ve started. To touch and taste all of Sam.

“How long?” Sam says again. “Because if you’ve wanted this as long as I have, we are so dumb.”

Steve ducks his head. His face is now flushed for an entirely new reason. He buries his face in Sam’s neck and takes the opportunity to kiss every inch of skin he can reach. Sam’s hands twist in the fabric of Steve’s shirt as he inhales sharply. “On your left,” Steve admits.

Sam half laughs, half groans again. “We are so dumb.”

Steve rocks his pelvis against Sam and feels that they’re on the same page.

“Never do anything half way, right?” Sam says, pushing back into Steve.

Steve laughs, tugs on Sam’s hips to not-so-subtly move them toward the living room. Sam doesn’t mind being led, although between kisses, he says, “I see what you’re doing.”

And Steve says, “You’re not stopping me.”

Sam catches Steve’s bottom lip between his teeth and Steve loses what little wit he could summon to the moment. His slight edge in height doesn’t seem to faze Sam, who somehow kisses himdown on to the sofa like it’s nothing. Sam straddles his narrow waist and they both pause to take in the moment.

“This is fun,” Sam observes and he smirks like this had been his design for the evening all along.

Steve doesn’t mind; he’s feeling pretty smug himself. He tugs at the top of Sam’s jeans and Sam pulls his button-down out of the waistband. Sam starts at the collar and Steve works the bottom buttons. They’re racing toward the middle and pretending like they aren’t.

“I win,” Steve says as he loosens the last button. He intertwines his fingers with Sam’s and they grin at each other. The stupid-happy feeling that Steve has come to associate with Sam is written on his face now and Steve can’t believe it’s taken them this long. Or that it feels this good, this familiar. It’s jokey and warm and easy and Sam smells like soap and laundry and that certain something that doesn’t have a name but is very distinctly SAM. Steve could be in the middle of a warzone and recognize that smell. But this isn’t war; it’s love—it’s making love, as cheesy and sincere as that sounds. Steve has been accused of cheesy sincerity his whole life and it isn’t the worst thing.

Sam shrugs out of his shirt and Steve helps him pull down the sleeves, or he tries, but gets distracted by the dense muscles of Sam’s arms. He runs his hands over satiny-soft skin, marvels at the miracle of nature that is Sam. And he got it the old-fashioned way; no help from super serums to sculpt this work of art.

“Like what you see?” Sam asks.

Steve nods, pulls Sam down for another kiss. At first, Sam tries to hold some of his weight on his elbows, but Steve is having none of that. He smooths his hands down Sam’s bare back and then presses down until their chests are flush.

“I can take it,” he says against Sam’s throat.

Sam’s laughter is breathy. “Must’ve forgot who I’m dealing with,” he teases.

Steve wants to say _Let me remind you,_ or something like that, but Sam rolls his hips against him and Steve makes an _ungh_ sound instead. Which delights Sam to no end and he rolls his hips again.

“Fuck,” Steve grunts.

Sam bites Steve’s lip, before chastising. “That’s a swear word. Think of the children.”

 _Fuck the children_ , Steve wants to say, but Sam is really, really good at taking away his articulateness, and Steve is reduced to some embarrassing groans as Sam rocks against his incredibly, ridiculously hard dick. He tries to speak, say _something._

“We should—I should—F-u--uuck, Sam.”

Sam grins, ruts against Steve in earnest. “We _should_ fuck Sam,” he agrees. “Sam would like that very much.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I just want them to get married and grow old together, okay? I'm very emotional about them right now, probably because of the Civil War trailer, but also because I'm pretty much always emotional about them. In case you hadn't noticed. (Writing Flirty!Sam is funnnnnnn. Almost as fun as OldMan!Sam.)

**Author's Note:**

> I think there are so many ways to go with Sam's characterization that are completely valid, based on CATWS. This time around, I focused on how frisky he was with both Steve and Nat within seconds of meeting them and decided to write him as a big ole flirt. (WHO TOTALLY RECIPROCATES DUMB STEVE'S FEELINGS, BUT IS JUST AS NERVOUS AS STEVE ABOUT ADMITTING HIS FEELINGS BECAUSE ROMANTIC VULNERABILITY IS SCARIER THAN SHOOTING THE BAD GUYS, APPARENTLY.)


End file.
